


The Coronation

by duc



Series: The Boy King [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:14:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duc/pseuds/duc
Summary: Five years ago, Padawan Padmé Naberrie and her master, Khaat Qiyn, had gone to Naboo to settle a simple taxation dispute. Two weeks and a desperate dash to Coruscant later, Naboo was under the Trade Federation’s occupation, a third of the Republic had seceded, war had broken out between the Separatists and the Loyalists, Master Qiyn was dead, killed by a Sith Lord out of a history datapad, and so was the Naboo queen.After five years of tug-of-war, Naboo is finally back under Republic control long enough for the planet to elect a new ruler, and Padawan Naberrie is back on the planet to attend the coronation.





	The Coronation

**Author's Note:**

> So about two years ago (dear gods, I’m a slow writer), fresh from having successfully written a short snippet in response to a prompt, I asked for more prompt. I got “Role Reversal AU or maybe a Sith AU” which did give me a heck of an idea, except this part needed to be, if not written, then at least posted first, and my brain wanted to write every part of the AU but this one. So it took forever.

From the balcony of the palace, Padmé had to admit Naboo was beautiful. At dusk, the copper roofs of Theed gleamed like jewels and one could almost think the war had never touched the city. She hadn’t had the time to appreciate its beauty on her first mission to the planet. She hadn’t had the time to do much of anything. 

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her. She turned to find herself almost nose to nose with the new King of Naboo. 

“Your majesty,” Padmé bowed to conceal her surprise. 

“Padawan Naberrie,” the king inclined his head in response, the way some people did to Jedi.

Padmé was mildly impressed he knew her name. Impressed, because the guest list to his coronation had numbered in the hundreds, most of them much more important than her. Mildly, because remembering the right person at the right time was half of a politician’s job, and Master Qui-Gon and herself were the only two Jedi present beside. 

“Congratulation on your election,” she said.

“Thank you. I hope to be worthy of the trust that was put in me,” she got back in response.

Poised and a touch rehearsed. With his solemn bearing, voluminous robes and immaculate make-up, he looked neither like a child nor like an adult but like a polished porcelain doll. It was somewhat eerie.

“Should you be here alone, Your Majesty?” that was the question she really wanted to ask.

She couldn’t help but eye the open plaza behind her - with its myriads of roofs, hiding spots and thousands of buzzing life forces - and the two slender boys in front of her that were the King’s only entourage. 

Naboo had officially been retaken by Republic Forces the week before, but everyone knew there were still pockets of Separatists agents. The Royal Guard had already been nervous about letting the new monarch give his traditional inauguration speech on the steps of the palace - a _ nd who could blame them when you knew what had happened to the previous queen? _

Padmé was certain that Captain Panaka would have kits if he knew the king was outside, in the near dark, virtually alone. To be perfectly honest, it was making Padmé uncomfortable too.

She had seen what had happened to 16 years old Queen Aleinna.  

“But I’m not alone, am I?” the king replied. “My pages are with me.” 

He gestured to his two attendants. Padmé looked at the boys. Neither of them looked a day over 14 - which granted, was the point. She knew from previous experience with Aleinna that the royal handmaidens/pages doubled as bodyguards. She remembered that they had been impressively skilled regardless of age. Still... 

“And  _ you _ are here as well,” he finished with an unsubtle emphasis on the “you”. 

Padmé did not snort, because she was a Jedi and Jedi had decorum. Officially, Master Qui-Gon, herself and a small detachment of the 501st were there merely as GAR representatives. Officially. Unofficially, everyone  _ had _ been nervous about the coronation and the Jedi had agreed to quietly keep an extra eye on the situation. 

“We’re meant to  _ supplement _ your security detail, Your Majesty, not replace it.”

“Oh,” he flashed a smile, mischievous and sheepish at the same time. The expression broke the doll-like quality of his appearance, making him briefly look like the human he was. “My apologies. I only wanted some fresh air, and a little quiet to clear my head.”

The breeze picked up, rustling the medal dangles of his headdress and making them jingle. The murmur of conversation drifted from the plaza. 

“Has it helped?” Padmé asked, trying and failing, to subtly hurry things along. 

Padmé could tell from a twitch in his shoulder, that if he hadn’t been in full regalia and at a very formal occasion, the king would have shrugged. 

“It will do. Let’s head back in,” he conceded. 

As he turned to do just so, one page stepped up to the door to open it and stopped, hand hovering over the handle for a second. The boy opened his mouth and closed it.

“Renko?” the king asked. 

The page cleared his throat and looked at his king then back at the door. By then Padmé and King Skaïan had gotten close enough to hear what had given him a pause.

“... Experience! You can’t tell me that’s not insane,” a female voice from the other side of the door was saying. 

“He’s not the youngest monarch we ever elected,” another voice replied, with the patient air of someone who had had this discussion before. 

This voice was familiar. Horace Vancil, the Naboo senator. Padmé couldn’t recognize the friend, but then, contrarily to what Obi-Wan liked to say, she did not know every Republic politician by name, much less by voice. 

“...But Horace, correct me if I’m wrong,” the complainer was saying. “Those children reigned in times of peace. With a galactic war going on and Naboo barely back in the hands of the Republic, one would think the planet would need a strong hand not...”

“Geru, do not make the mistake of thinking that because our monarchs tend to be younger than the galactic average, they are unprepared to assume their duties.” 

“So you’re telling me he was elected for his skills and experience rather than for whose son he is?”

The pages were too well trained to let anything show on their faces, but Padmé could feel their indignation. It drowned out any reaction the king might have had.

They stood in awkward silence as the Senator and his friend kept arguing about the king’s experience, moral character, and competence, for a good minute before finally moving on. 

Once they were gone, Page Renko opened the door and they all slipped inside. 

“Some uncertainty is to be expected, I suppose,” the king said sotto voce, once they were back inside the bustle of the reception. He sounded almost amused, and Padmé couldn’t tell if it was genuine amusement or masking hurt. 

“You are not an entirely new player,” Padmé said, just to see how he would respond. 

Most of what she had heard of King Skaïan had been highly polarized. People either thought he was the incompetent result of nepotism and heralded the downfall of Naboo, or they expected him to be the Herald of Naboo’s recovery and single-handedly restore it to its former glory. It made her wonder what kind of person he actually was. “You’ve been in the Legislative Youth Program.” 

“Yes, along with everybody else,” he must have noticed Padmé’s confusion because he explained. “The Legislative Youth Program is a rite of passage for Naboo citizens. It hardly counts.” 

“You’re one of the faces of the Refugee Relief Movement. Some say your speech on the Garqui refugee camp is what swayed the committee.” 

Padmé was still disappointed she hadn’t been able to listen to that debate - the ramifications of which affected any and all population displacements created by the war she was fighting - not that her absence made any difference, but of all the time she had been pulled into a last minute deployment, it had been one of the most frustrating.

He ducked his head. “We’ll see quickly enough.” he repeated. “There is a lot of work to be done.”

“I saw the damage on the way to the palace.” 

Signs of the struggle had been everywhere, a boarded window here, a caved in roof there, centuries old buildings reduced to rubbles. Even the palace had not escaped unscathed from the conflict; the throne room itself sported some massive hanging tapestries, which, from the lingering smell of ozone and mildew, Padmé suspected had been pulled out of storage to hide blaster marks.  

“Yes, though that is not a pressing problem at the moment.”

“Oh?”

“Theed is not the biggest priority. Reports say a lot of buildings are habitable as is - this palace alone can house hundreds. With careful organization, it’ll be a while before shelter becomes an issue. We will rebuild, of course,” the king reassured her. “But we have the time to gather the resources to do it right, rather than do it fast.”

“And meanwhile the homeless will sleep in the Palace?” she half joked. Unthinkable as it sounded on some parts of the Core, she had actually seen just that happening on more than one bombed out Mid and Outer Rim planet. But usually the ruling body was already long gone, and with the precariousness on Naboo, security...

“That is regretfully too much of a security risk,” he said. The stilted royal dialect made it hard to tell, but Padmé thought he was quoting someone else. “But the palace _ has _ been open to house governmental and municipal agencies such as the security forces and the postal service. Which in turn frees up their traditional seat for public use.”

_ Smart  _ Padmé thought. And in line with the idealistic pragmatism she had seen from the Naboo on her previous mission. 

“And what is the priority then?”

“Food.”

Before she could ask for clarification -  _ food? _ Naboo was between two trade routes, imports would have resumed the minute the separatists left the atmosphere and even battered as it was, the planet was more than wealthy enough to afford everything it needed - their little group was discovered by a gaggle of representatives, and their discussion was swallowed by a wave of congratulations and the usual exchange of pleasantries. 

Padmé was about to leave in search of more interesting pastures - She had just glimpsed Senator Organa talking to Senator Malé Dee earlier and she had a feeling they were discussing the proposed Privacy Bill, which Padmé wanted to know more about - when the subject wandered back to King Skaïan’s reconstruction plans.

“The Western Lake Country was hit hard, wasn’t it?” A man in the ornate suit of a corporate representative asked. “My ship happened to fly over it during our descent to Theed”

“Yes it was. I am impressed at your grasp of Naboo geography, Mr…..”

“Mero Voss, I represent the Decamin Corporations.”

“You’re right, Representative Voss, The Western Lake Country needs to be rebuilt from the ground up, in essence. It’s going to be our very first priority.”

Padmé’s interest was piqued and she stayed where she was. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Representative Voss said. 

Padmé raised an eyebrow and King Skaïan looked like he wanted to. A corporate representative from outside of the sector knowing about - and showing interest in - a tiny region of a tiny planet, when he likely wouldn’t even have attended the coronation if not for the Chancellor? There was something there. 

“And if I may,” the representative continued. “what are the rebuilding plans? I understand this region sits right under an important untapped plasma vein.”

_ Ah _ . And now Padmé could see the rest of the conversation unfold. The representative would offer his corporation’s resources to set up the exploitation of the vein, for a price. If the king played his cards right - and this was just the kind of move his father managed to pull with surprising regularity - he would gain the goodwill of a powerful Galactic corporation and remain a man of the people looking out for his planet in the eye of his subjects. 

“I’m sorry, Representative,” King Skaïan was saying. “There are no plans to exploit the plasma vein. The Western Lake Region is one of the bread baskets of Naboo. Before the war it was covered in aquafarms, orchards and rice fields.”

Internally Padmé raised an eyebrow at the break from the expected script. Was he being serious, or was he merely playing hard to get?

“Yes, I know it was left unexploited because the region was traditionally agricultural,” the representative said jovially. “But since that has all been destroyed, now is the ideal time to….”

“No, you misunderstand. The Western Lake Region was the breadbasket of Naboo and Naboo needs it back. There will be no mine there.”

“Surely a planet as well connected as Naboo does not need to produce its own food supply?”

“Even Coruscant produces a portion of its own food.” King Skaïan answered amiably. “Some of the bigger hydroponic farms offer tours. Have you ever been? If our industrialized capital can, then there is no reason for a planet as bountiful as Naboo to be at the whims of the Hyperspace Lanes. No offence to our esteemed defenders.” he nodded at Padmé. “But even the smallest sign of unrest along the Hyperlanes is enough to cause hikes in prices. They say bread on Ryloth costs as much as a day’s wage.”

“But Ryloth and Naboo aren’t exactly comparable,” the representative replied. 

“How so?” Skaïan, who couldn’t not know what Voss meant, but who looked fresh faced enough to credibly fake ignorance, asked innocently.

“Well, they’re not nearly as well situated,” Voss answered, because ‘it’s in the Outer Rim’, while it could be interpreted as a matter of location, had connotations that were best left unstated when on the record, especially when you could flatter your interlocutor instead.

Skaïan put on the barest of frowns under his make-up. “They are directly on the Correlian Run.”

While Naboo was some distance from both that trade route and the Hydian Way. Padmé hid a smile. Voss was right that Naboo was unlikely to ever be in Ryloth’s situation. Life could get dire on the war torn sections of the Mid Rim, but Naboo still was leagues ahead in term of natural resources and social capital, so they had quite a way to go before they reached the all-encompassing misery of Ryloth. But Padmé found herself liking the way the new King appeared ready to view the planet on the same level as his own, and when it proved not to be, to lay the blame not on the planet, but on the way the Republic reacted to it. She also liked, if it wasn’t a front, his lack of deference toward outside interests, which could certainly help  _ him _ gain influence, but who would take advantage of his constituents in a heartbeat if not watched carefully. It boded well.

“Not that being on the Correlian Run means much these days,” another politician said. “The separatists are blockading it somewhere every other week, and the Grand Army seems incapable of keeping them off.”

“In fact, wasn’t the 501st supposed to deploy over Rodia?” the Rodian senator, a being of a venerable age in sumptuous purple robes complained.

Padmé turned away from the king and his conversation to address the senator directly, interrupting them mid what was building up to be a tirade on the irresponsibility of the Grand Army of the Republic.

“I’m sorry to say that you are mistaken, Senator,” Padmé told them with a small bow. “The 501st has been overdue for leave and a full resupply for the past two months, we need at least two weeks before we can ship out again.”

“You mean to leave your troops lazing around in port while our citizens are suffering?” the being put a hand on their heart.

“Sir,” Padmé drew herself to her full height and tucked her hands in her sleeves. “Your constituents are your responsibility as their elected representative, of course their wellbeing is your first concern. As the Commander of the 501st I am equally responsible for the wellbeing of my men. I must push for their best interests, or else they will fall due to exhaustion and lack of supplies, and even if we ignore the tragic, needless loss of life that would be, how would that help Rodia?”

The senator had the good grace not to insist after that. Padmé took a deep calming breath. The way that most Republic citizens casually ignored the fact that the GAR troops were not droids who ran until they broke never failed to rankle. 

“It’s things like this that makes you see the value of a good hop in a starfighter,” she muttered under her breath. They were long, boring and cramped, but there were no entitled officials to wrangle. 

She turned back toward the king to find him looking at her intently. Most politicians, despite being neither Force sensitive nor trained, usually had some rudimentary form of shielding by the time they were elected into office. For a lot of beings, it was a natural byproduct of the skills they had to master to succeed in public life. King Skaïan was no exception, and she had not felt anything more than vague excitement from him all day. But at that moment, she was pretty sure she caught the last dredges of … pleasant surprise? Before they dissipated in the Force.

“Things are much simpler in a cockpit,” the king agreed, with the air of someone who knew what he was talking about.

“Oh, are you a pilot?” It was unlikely he had ever handled something of the caliber of a starfighter, but he certainly was old enough to have a licence or two, for small atmospheric crafts or shuttle class ships - although the later would be less interesting to a boy his age. 

“Let’s say that if politic doesn’t work out I know what career I can fall back on.” 

Someone was very in love with his first skyhopper, was hitching to get a turn at a starfighter, or both. Padmé smiled. Jedi younglings, civilian youths or child politicians, it was nice to see that teenagers were the same all over. 

Suddenly, conversations around them hushed. Politicians, courtiers and representatives parted, letting the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic through. Palpatine nodded at senators as he passed until he was in front of the new king. He cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty,” he said, inclining his head politely.

The king bowed shallowly in return. “Your excellency,” he replied with all the pomp and circumstances of his Naboo Royal accent, but as he looked back up his face broke into a small smile and he ducked his head.

The Chancellor himself, beaming with pride around the edges, was struggling to keep his expression professional.

All around them, the top of the Galaxy’s elected body and government officials had no such compunction and were all but cooing at the scene. Padmé even caught one holonet reporter trying to inconspicuously take a holo. She guessed it would make for a good picture, he chancellor and his son, both trying - but failing - to act official after the younger Palpatine had just been sworn into his first political office.


End file.
